


Same Old Love.

by Michaelssw0rd



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: But trust me it's not sad... not really, Epic Friendship, Falling In Love, Fluff and Angst, Hand Jobs, M/M, MIT Era, Playboy Nathan, Snarky Harold, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-08
Updated: 2018-06-08
Packaged: 2019-05-19 21:02:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,256
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14881140
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Michaelssw0rd/pseuds/Michaelssw0rd
Summary: Back in MIT, when they were both young and less jaded, Nathan met young brilliant, snarky, too-enamored-with-science-to-have-time-for-romantic-entanglements Harold, and fell in love.





	Same Old Love.

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Lisagarland](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lisagarland/gifts).



> Your request of Nathan obsessed with his odd, beautiful roommate was wonderful, and I've always enjoyed the idea of Nathan being head over heels for Oblivious!Harold. I hope you enjoy my attempt at writing it. ♥

Nathan could feel Harold squirming in the chair next to him, and had to suppress his grin and focus on jotting down the lecture.

In front of the class, Dr. Wilfred kept droning on about Digital Systems. Erroneously, as Nathan deduced from his friend’s restlessness.

Without looking up from his notebook, Nathan placed a hand on Harold’s thigh. A silent entreaty to be calm. He didn’t need to remind Harold about what happened last time. Dr. Wilfred didn’t take criticism well.

Although Nathan let his hand linger for longer than he should have, its effect didn’t faze Harold, because a minute later he stood up.

“Excuse me, but that’s not quite right.”

Nathan barely held himself back from slapping his forehead. From the sound of it, so did Professor Wilfred.

“Mr. Wren. I think we concluded last time we had our _disagreement,_ to wait until after class to discuss it.”

“We did, Professor.” Harold’s tone made it obvious how much respect he held for the title. “But I can’t, in genuine conscience, let you teach these people about the object-oriented paradigm in the context of—“

“After class, Mr. Wren.”

Nathan glanced at Harold now, who pursed his lips, and then nodded. Before Professor Wilfred could let out a relieved breath, Harold turned around, placed his books and stationery in his bag and swung it over his shoulder.

Nathan could not hide his grin as Harold stomped down the stairs and made for the door. “After class then, Professor.”

He let the door swing shut loudly behind him.

Nathan leaned back in his chair, not even bothering to suppress the mirth at the shocked silence in the class. Then he picked up his notebook and followed Harold out.

“Where are _you_ going, young man?” The professor managed to find his voice when he was at the door.

Nathan knew his smile looked fond as he looked at the closed door. “Something important came up. I am very sorry about it. Can I please be excused from the class?”

He, unlike Harold, knew tact. He waited until the professor gave a reluctant nod before following Harold out of the class, already making plans of how they could spend their suddenly free hour.

* * *

 

When Nathan had gotten accepted into MIT, he had been ecstatic. He was going to change the world, and have the time of his life doing it. And then the classes started, and the workload built up, and his dreams felt exactly that… _dreams._

Halfway through the first semester, he met Harold. It changed him. Maybe not at the start, maybe not in ways he noticed until it was too late, but crunch nights before a test started being _exciting_ , and the time spent partying or in company of pretty girls started feeling dull. Harold’s mere presence was bright and full of energy, and before he knew it, it was the only brightness he sought anymore. When he was with Harold, anything seemed possible, even his dreams.

It took him a long time to realize what it was; to realize he had fallen in love with his best friend.

* * *

 

“Hi, Nathan.” A girl, Sophia, or was it Sarah, trailed her hand down his arm as she passed him by. Nathan watched her go, with a deliberate leer on his face, and winked at her when their eyes met.

Once she had settled at the counter with her friends, he turned back towards his own, who were looking at him exasperatedly.

“Who was _that?”_ Arthur asked, teasing.

“A friend.”

“Oh really?” Harold’s voice took on an incredulous pitch. “What’s her name?”

Nathan laughed. “Not important. What’s important is how good she is with her tongue.”

Harold made a disgusted face at that. Try as he might, Nathan could not delude himself into thinking that was an expression of jealousy. But, hey! A man had to try.  Arthur clapped him on his shoulder and ordered another pint of beer for all three of them.

They were sitting around a table at the local bar, a pick me up for Harold after his hearing with the Dean. Not that he needed a pick me up. His spirits didn’t seem at all diminished; if anything, he seemed buoyed up with righteous anger.

“So let me get this straight, the Dean will be taking no disciplinary action about the incident?” Arthur asked halfway through their second beer.

“Yes.”

“And that’s not-good, for some reason?”

“Yes!” Harold was drunk, Nathan could see it in the flush on his cheeks, and the way he put his glass down with more force than necessary. “Because that incompetent Wilfred will keep on giving false information to the students, and most of them can’t be bothered to recheck their facts. That’s negligence. The administration needs to—“

“Harold,” Nathan placed a hand on Harold’s shoulder, knowing he wasn’t exactly sober himself. “I know what you need?”

“What?” Harold’s voice was suspicious. Nathan was offended by that. He always had excellent plans.

“You need to get laid!” he announced, with great glee.

“That’s it? Sex? That’s your answer?” Harold looked at him with genuine bafflement, which Nathan responded to by nodding enthusiastically. Why was Harold even surprised? Nathan suggested this course of action at least once a month. Harold had never once listened, at least not in Nathan’s knowledge.

“I’m afraid all of us don’t have the self-confidence to believe that our cock has magical power to fix a messed up administrative system.” Harold’s tone could be cuttingly dry despite his inebriation.

“Come on, Harold. For the hundredth time. It will be fun.”

“And for the hundredth time, Nathan. I am not interested in a relationship.” Harold waved his hand, as if ending the conversation.

A sober Nathan might have let it go. A drunk Nathan couldn’t.

“A relationship is not a prerequisite for sex, you know that, right?”

“Yes. I am aware.”

“Seriously, do you _ever_ have sex? At all?”

Harold’s spine stiffened, and when he replied, it was one of the rare few times where Nathan knew further questions would not be welcome.

“That is none of your business,” Harold said.

Even drunk, Nathan knew he couldn’t say how very much his business that information was. But for all his genuineness and all his constant chatter, Harold could be very private in some matters. Nathan had learned to respect that, if he wanted to keep Harold as a friend.

Arthur, sensing the tension, came to the rescue and changed the topic. “So, Harold… what about crunch sessions for the upcoming finals? Do you have any plans?”

* * *

 

Harold went for a jog, every morning.

He seemed to believe one hour of exercise in the morning was an adequate compensation for the rest of the day spent sedentary in front of an ACSII terminal and a particular fondness for donuts.

In the second year at MIT, when Harold and Nathan became roommates, Harold started dragging Nathan out for it too. It didn’t matter if it was raining, or if it was freezing cold, Harold would get up as clockwork and put on his trek suit.

The trek suit was half the reason Nathan bothered with it anyway. The other was Harold’s company.

As they jogged side by side around the park adjacent to their university, Nathan thought he really was too far gone if Harold’s company could convince him for _exercise._ But watching Harold break out in a sweat, hearing him breathe hot and heavy during the jog and listening to him groan while stretching afterwards, made it worth it.

When they grabbed ice-cream after the workout, Nathan knew he stared at the small peeking tongue. He had no self-control against it. Fortunately (or unfortunately) Harold didn’t notice. Sometimes Nathan thought Harold didn’t have the ability to notice things like that, despite how sharp and observant he was about other things.

The girls and occasional men gazing at Harold with dreamy eyes, while going completely unnoticed by Harold, were proof of that.

The fact that he had no idea how attractive he was, no comprehension of his magnetic pull, somehow made him even more attractive. Nathan never stood a chance.

* * *

 

They scheduled group study sessions before finals.

By that, it meant that Nathan and Arthur let Harold pick a subject, and then break it down to pieces in front of them, and put it back together in a way that fit. Nathan learned more in these sessions than he ever did in class.

The fact that it was Harold teaching, and that Nathan was almost addicted to the cadence of his voice, might play a part in retaining his attention.

They were gathered in one of the reading rooms in Stratton Centre and had just finished their study session on Electromagnetism II. Harold leaned back in his chair, pliant and flushed. Nathan suddenly wondered if he would look this relaxed after an orgasm, and almost choked on his own saliva. Harold arched his eyebrows at him, but Nathan just shook his head, coughing. No way was he going to explain _that_ to Harold.

He noticed the group of three girls coming towards them bare moments before they reached their table, and sighed. He knew how this one would go.

“Mr. Wren, I am having a little trouble with this differential equations lesson…”

Harold sat straighter and pulled the book she was holding out for him closer. “Oh. The Lax-Wandroff method.”

“Yes,” the other girl said and made a pleading face. “Can you please help us with it? Pleasseee.”

Harold rubbed the bridge of his nose, exhaustion written in every move. “Now?”

“Yes. We have all our things set on a table over there.”

“Alright then.” Harold looked at Arthur and Nathan questioningly. When they didn’t protest, he got up and followed the girls, completely oblivious to their secretly shared grins and giggles.

Once Harold left, Arthur chuckled. “The entire college calls you the skirt chaser, but the skirts are chasing _him_.”

“Too bad they don’t know it’s a fruitless endeavor.”

“You think so?” Arthur mused. “Maybe one of them would strike his fancy.”

“I don’t think carnal pleasure is something he has the capacity of enjoying, at least for now. Trust me. I would know. He is all for the pleasures of the mind.” A wistfulness crept into his voice without his consent, and he realized his mistake a moment too late.

“Nathan…” Arthur started, pity and concern in his voice, but Nathan suddenly got up.

“Shut up,” he said, turning around. “We should get a drink, as our teacher is otherwise unavailable for the moment.”

Arthur, bless his soul, didn’t say anything about the topic again.

* * *

 

Nathan still took an occasional girl back to his dorm. When he was feeling particularly reckless, he would even pick a guy instead. While sex felt as good as it always did in the moment, soft flesh yielding under his touch, the emptiness he felt afterwards was simply not worth it.

The fact that his eyes searched Harold’s face afterwards, wanting to know how he felt about coming to a room with a do-not-disturb sign and knowing what Nathan had been up to the night before, wanting to know if Harold felt jealous, was even worse.

Because if anything, Harold was indifferent, and it all just led to more heartache for him.

It was just easier to lie in his bed, and let Harold’s steady breathing from the bed across the room lull him to sleep. It was more rewarding to watch Harold’s sleep slack face during the night, and see him be ruffled and adorable in the mornings before his shower and tea.

And when the longing became too much, when the desire that built by touches that were frequent and never enough grew until it rested heavy in his belly… well, it was just simpler to handle it by himself, in a warm shower with a fist closed around his length and a fantasy about his friend just a wall across from him.

* * *

 

Harold was wearing a hole in the carpet with his pacing. It was getting on Nathan’s nerves.

“For the last time, Harold, settle down.”

Harold ran his fingers through his hair. “I can’t!” he huffed as he sat down on the edge of his bed, his leg moving restlessly.

“When was the last time you slept?” Nathan didn’t need to ask. He knew Harold hadn’t slept in three days. Not since the finals started. He asked only to see if _Harold_ knew that.

“I can’t sleep, Nathan. There is too much to revise. I am not confident about my grasp on multithreading and the exam is tomorrow.”

“You need sleep.”

“I can’t,” he repeated, sounding genuinely distressed.

Nathan shrugged off his blanket and sat up. He couldn’t kick Harold out of the room in the middle of the night, so there really wasn’t a choice other than to talk to him. The truth was, the stress had wound Nathan up too tight as well, and Harold’s freak out wasn’t helping.

“Harold,” he said, weary. “You are the smartest guy I know…”

Harold barked out a laugh. “Thanks.”

“But you can be a real idiot sometimes.”

“Thanks a lot, Nathan. Very helpful.” Harold pouted, and in his sleep deprivation and stress, Nathan had no defense against it.

“I can be helpful,” he let his voice get rougher, more suggestive. When Harold looked at him hopefully, he winked. “I have found that orgasms help one sleep.”

Harold shook his head in exasperation. “You think I haven’t tried that? I am too wound up for it.”

The thought of Harold, trying to jerk off in their shared bathroom, shot a bolt of heat through Nathan. Without conscious decision, he got up from his bed and sat beside Harold, their sides touching. It was their years of familiarity that had Harold sag against him and give in to exhaustion.

Which is why he felt like a right ass when he said, “Orgasms are easier with a partner.”

It was a testament to how used Harold was to Nathan and this particular line of conversation that he didn’t even stiffen. Instead, he shrugged. “You know I have no energy or inclination for romantic entanglements.”

“You don’t…”

“Nor do I have energy to seek out a partner for just sexual gratification. It’s…” Nathan knew Harold must be wrinkling his nose. “It’s an inconvenient biological compulsion, but I have better things to do.”

Nathan was quiet for a moment. If he was a better man, he would’ve offered Harold a massage, or a sleeping pill. Instead, with heart beating in his throat, he placed a hand on Harold’s thigh.

“What if I help you?”

This time Harold did stiffen. But he didn’t jerk away from Nathan’s side. “Pardon?”

“You’re stressed, and in need of a release. I am offering.”

Harold pulled back and looked at him. With difficulty, Nathan met his gaze. He was relieved when there was no disgust written there, just curiosity.

“Really?”

Nathan swallowed around the lump in his throat and squeezed Harold’s thigh, inching his hand up. “Really. It doesn’t have to mean anything. Just friends helping friends.”

“Nathan, I don’t want something like this to affect our…”

With the knowledge that the only objection Harold had against this was the repercussions to their friendship, Nathan’s restraint finally snapped. He moved his hand up, and cupped Harold through his trousers. “Harold,” his voice was trembling, “I need to sleep. The only way I can do that is if you sleep. So, shut up and let me help.”

Harold didn’t protest any further; instead, when Nathan gave a tentative squeeze to the bulge in his palm, Harold moaned. Nathan thought he could get addicted to that sound.

He took it slow, savoring the moment, aware that he might not get to do this often, if at all. When he finally slipped his hand under the waistband of Harold’s pants and wrapped his fingers around the slowly hardening flesh, the moan that permeated the silence came from both of them.

“Nathan…” Harold’s voice was a breathy sigh, and he looked at Nathan with something like awe in his eyes. The only thing Nathan could do was twist his wrist on the upstroke and kiss the whine from Harold’s lips.

* * *

 

Harold was exactly as pliant in the afterglow as Nathan had often imagined. He flopped against Nathan, letting him carry all his weight, and despite the strange ache in his chest, Nathan chuckled.

“Come now, let’s get you settled in bed.”

“I have already come,” Harold commented, sleepy, and Nathan chuckled again.

“Yes, you have. And you know I can’t resist saying I told you so.”

He helped Harold lie down properly, tucking the sheets around him, and watched him snuggle his pillow like he wished Harold would snuggle him. When he got up to leave—to wash his face, take care of his own erection, or to bloody _cry like a girl_ —Harold mumbled.

“Thanks, Nathan. You are a good friend.”

Nathan blinked back the sudden traitorous tears in his eyes, and escaped into the bathroom, desperate to put a wall between the two of them.

Under the hot shower, he wrapped the hand still covered in Harold’s come around himself, and let the pleasure wash away the heartache.

Harold was a whirlwind, his attention fickle and his interest fleeting. He was someone who couldn’t even settle on a major right now, and had taken up three. There was no place in his beautiful mind, or heart, for what Nathan wanted. Not yet.

Maybe if they had met at another time, maybe when Harold’s heart was more settled, they could’ve had something. But if that meant giving up what he _did_ have, Harold’s friendship and company, his loyalty and trust and laughter and stupid, reckless ideas, Nathan knew it wasn’t really a choice at all.

This was enough. Almost.

* * *

 

Nathan entered the coffee shop, feeling wary. The wariness dissipated when he spotted Harold sitting in his usual seat, scribbling on some papers in front of him. Nathan walked up to him and sat down on the chair across from him.

“What’s with the cryptic note?” Nathan picked up the cup of coffee on his side, which he presumed was there for him. Harold didn’t drink coffee.

“What cryptic note?”

“ _Meet me at our usual place. It’s important. H._ That cryptic note.”               

“Oh.” Harold finally pushed away his papers and looked at him, fixing his glasses. “Oh, yes. I was going to ask you, how does the name IFT sound?”

“IFT?”

“Yes.” Harold nodded, a little impatient. “I was looking at properties based in NY, and I think I have narrowed the list down to three now. But we need a name.”

“Harold,” Nathan took another sip of coffee just to give himself a moment. “Calm down, will you, and explain. A name for what?”

“Our company.”

Nathan took a deep breath, in and out. “What?”

“We graduated a week ago. It’s about time we start working on the ideas we have been talking about for years.” When Nathan didn’t—couldn’t—say anything, Harold frowned. “You _do_ want to work together, right?”

“Yes,” Nathan answered hastily.

Harold’s frown smoothed. “Good. So, IFT?”

Nathan thought about it. He wanted to ask what it stood for, what properties Harold was looking into, how long he had been planning it without telling Nathan. But all that didn’t matter. The only thing that mattered at the moment was the contentment seeping into his heart.

“Sounds perfect.”

**Author's Note:**

> I had more fun writing this than I was honestly expecting. I would love to hear what you thought.


End file.
